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Nov 072010
 

Fields standing in stubble

and at the fencerow,

the tall grasses grow.

Fields chiseled

waiting for the first snow to blow,

and as I look west

I feel the moist breeze and I know

what was from my hand,

tended by my hoe

will bring me to till one time more.

 Posted by at 8:03 am
Oct 302010
 

The woodland creatures gather,

a lakesiders migration,

the first killing frost sends them on. 

 

A nocturnal passage no more, 

the lakeshore is returned.

A thank you left,

a greeting to a changing season,

a Halloween treat  at their front door.

 

Happy Halloween

 Posted by at 8:06 am
Oct 042010
 

There is a moment,

all around me silent.

Sun, brilliant,

 

then hidden,

 breeze deadened to calm.

 First frost,

a silenced cacophony,

and I linger.

 

The moment held close,

a reminder,

why I walk the Northwood.

© Robert Frink, 2010

 Posted by at 7:19 am
May 082010
 

The front porches of the cottages leading down to Mill Street opened to tree lined streets. On summer evenings the front porch was where the days were revisited and tomorrows were discussed and dreams were shared.

The Garden Bench

My garden bench and early morning,

leaves filtering the light,

dancing with the breeze.

Moistened air,

Wildflowers pushing warmed loam.

A moment to linger,

senses awakening

This day is a promise,

from a waning winter.

© Robert Frink Jr.,  2010, all right reserved except where specifically stated otherwise.

 Posted by at 6:49 am
May 052010
 

The front porches of the cottages leading down to Mill Street opened to tree lined streets. On summer evenings the front porch was where the days were revisited and tomorrows were discussed and dreams were shared.

When the morning has begun, I see the lake, set hard in January.

The frozen fog above the horizon

and a chilled pastel sky.

Then with the passing morning there is restlessness.

I walk to the harbor, it’s changed, and there are no sounds.

The silence made me wonder.

I wondered where summer had gone.

I wondered why I hadn’t seen the joys that winter brings.

But here they were, all for a walk out my back door.

And as I walked through the harbor

I realized I had forgotten to see what brings me back

and now I remember.

It’s those things I never see,

those things never looked for, until I am reminded of the silence.

And now I know why I walk out my back door.

© Robert Frink Jr. 01-12-2010

 Posted by at 10:50 am